


Inhibitions

by monaboyd_archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Filming Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-16
Updated: 2004-04-16
Packaged: 2018-04-11 13:58:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4438136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monaboyd_archivist/pseuds/monaboyd_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is something about Billy that makes Sean lose his inhibitions.  (Billy/Sean A.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inhibitions

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Shirasade: this story was originally archived at the Monaboyd.net Archive, which was closed in September 2014 due to software issues and a lack of new submissions for several years . To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2014. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the Monaboyd.net Archive collection profile.

There is something about Billy that makes Sean lose his inhibitions.

It’s not that Billy drives him wild, or anything cheesy like that. Hell, to begin with it didn’t even have anything to do with sex. It’s just that, when Sean is around Billy, he’s a bit too trusting. There’s probably a reason for that, if he thinks about it. His age, probably. It’s different with Elijah and Dominic, because they’re both younger, and they’re supposed to do stupid shit, and Sean doesn’t trust them farther than he can throw them – and that’s not very far.

It’s different with Billy, though, because he’s older, and he’s not _supposed_ to be stupid. And because he’s not supposed to be stupid (even though Sean should know better – _does_ know better), Sean trusts him more. Sean figures that it’s just one of his weird psychological quirks, kind of like his need to be Elijah’s Sam even when they’re off set, even when Elijah doesn’t _want_ him to be. It’s not really a conscious choice. It’s just kind of inevitable.

The crux of the matter is that when Sean’s around Billy, he has a tendency to get talked into stupid things that he wouldn’t normally do.

Like tonight. Normally, there would be no chance whatsoever that he would go to a club like this. This reminds him of Orlando’s favorite clubs, all hotsweatyperfect bodies rubbing together in an obscene mimicry of dancing. There isn’t any beer or mixed nuts, just oddly-colored mixed drinks and jello shots, and drugs being passed around like candy. But Elijah suggested, and Dominic agreed, and Billy said, “Hey, why not, it sounds like fun, yeah?” And here Sean is.

Elijah is in the DJ booth, and Dominic is on the dance floor, and Billy disappeared a few minutes ago to God-knows-where. Sean is feeling alone and uncomfortable, and there is a good deal of mean leering coming from the booth just across the aisle that makes him shrink and want to disappear. He feels out-of-place in his plain T-shirt and jeans, when everyone else here is wearing leather and tight little shirts. Even Billy’s wearing a leather jacket over his T-shirt, and his jeans look a bit more snug than usual.

Speak of the devil, because here Billy is now, with a bottle of water and something clenched tight in his fist. He slides into the booth beside Sean, moving in close so that their sides are touching, shoulder to hip. The bottle plunks down on the table, and Billy unfurls his fist, and Sean is staring stupidly at the pair of unmarked, white tablets sticking to the sweaty skin of his palm.

“Um?” he says, but Billy just smiles reassuringly and holds one of the tablets up to Sean’s lips.

“Open up.”

And it’s hard to resist those firm, sure words, and surely Billy wouldn’t lead him astray? So Sean doesn’t asking any more questions, just opens his mouth, and feels Billy’s finger press the little tablet onto his tongue, tastes a little salt from his skin. The bottle is uncapped and tucked into his hand, and he brings it to his mouth out of automatic reaction, swallowing before he even thinks about what he’s doing. It’s not until Billy takes the bottle back and is using it to wash down the other tablet that Sean wonders what’s going on.

“What was that?”

Billy grins, and it’s all sharp canines and thin lips. “Something good.” At Sean’s raised eyebrows and suitably incredulous expression, he adds, “Don’t worry, it only lasts a few hours. It’ll wear off before we’re even heading home.”

“You’re a bad influence,” Sean mutters, and reaches for the bottle of water.

“I know,” Billy replies, still grinning.

They drift into silence, because the club atmosphere isn’t really conducive to conversations anyway, and they watch the dancers. Dominic has drifted back to the edge of the crowd, and Sean watches him grind with a pretty little brunette, and there is something vaguely obscene about watching the undeniably obscene movements.

He’s not sure how much time has passed when he feels Billy’s lips moving against his ear. “You should start feeling it any minute now,” and the words sound a little funny and out of place with their earthy, Scottish accent. Sean shivers, and is suddenly aware of how hot he is, so hot that he feels like he’s suffocating. There is sweat dripping down his spine and soaking his sides, and his palms are damp and clammy. He wants to get up, go outside and get a breath of fresh air, but he doesn’t quite feel like braving the press of bodies between himself and the door. So he stays where he is, sweating and pressed against Billy’s side, with Billy breathing in his ear.

The change is so subtle that he almost doesn’t notice it, except that he suddenly realizes he’s twitching, his foot and hand and shoulder, all doing a funny little twitch to the beat of the music. And when he notices that, he also becomes aware of the desire to move and the fact that the heat has become this buzzing twitchy energy under his skin. So when Billy abruptly starts pulling him from the booth, he goes unresisting, and when Billy drags him onto the dance floor, he follows.

He stops abruptly, though, just beyond writhingpressingsweaty bodies, teetering indecisively while Billy still tugs ineffectually at his wrist. “I can’t!” he shouts over the pounding music.

“Why the fuck not?” Billy asks, practically hanging on his arm now, still trying to push and pull and coerce.

Sean digs his heels obstinately into the floor, trying to bat away the buzzing that hangs like a cobweb over his mind, muffling and tangling his thoughts. “I …it’s …Christine!” he manages triumphantly, after a moment. “I can’t. Dance with them. It could be …bad,” he adds, wildly articulating with his hands.

“So? Don’t dance with them,” Billy tells him reasonably. “Dance with me.”

Sean can feel his resistance crumbling, because he’s still twitching, and the idea of dancing is suddenly very appealing, and Billy is giving him a safety net. His feet start moving before he’s even made a conscious decision, and by the time he _has_ decided, Billy is already directing him into the thick of the crowd.

There is a moment of hesitation when Sean’s brain catches up to his body and he realizes that he has no clue how he’s supposed to dance like _this,_ much less with Billy. Billy solves the problem, though, by throwing them into a densely packed group and keeping their hands linked. They’re not really dancing together, now, or with the other people – they’re just dancing. Or moving, at least, and occasionally bumping and rubbing, and that’s all Sean needs right now. He can feel Billy’s grip tight on his wrist, can feel his own feet and hands and hips moving, and he’s a little detached, like he’s watching it from the outside. He’s heady and a bit euphoric, and he knows it’s the drug, but it’s strange because it doesn’t feel wrong, just different.

He’s not sure how long they stay like that, or how strange they look, attached but not dancing together, and it doesn’t really matter. By the time he starts to come down he’s exhausted, it feels like there is sweat pooling from every pore in his body, and his clothes are sticking to him uncomfortably. His skin is hypersensitive, and the chafe of clothing is swiftly becoming unbearable, and he has a strange urge to pull off his shirt right there, in the middle of the club. And that’s about the time that it hits him: he’s a married, middle-aged man making a fool of himself in the middle of a nightclub, and he doesn’t need to take the humiliation any farther.

Sean is suddenly aware that Billy’s fingers are no longer digging into his wrist, and he’s not sure how long it’s been that way, and he momentarily panics. He’s feeling that crushing heat again, can’t breathe and thinks he’s going to pass out, righthererightnow. And then Billy’s abruptly there again, wrapping an arm around his waist and leaning up to speak in Sean’s ear, but Sean can’t hear anything he’s saying because he’s too distracted by the cool breath against his overheated skin. Billy’s just as sweaty as he is, and they are slickslipsliding against each other and across the dance floor, and abruptly they’re outside of the dancing bodies and Sean sways unsteadily.

Billy’s lips move, and Sean’s ears pick up the sound a moment later, in delayed reception. “You okay?”

Sean’s not, but he nods anyway, and Billy’s still hot against his side as he pushes and pulls and leads Sean out, outside, and Sean didn’t know that there was a door there but apparently there was. The door closes, and a moment later there is blessed silence.

They are standing in an alley outside the club, and the air is clear, if not clean, and Sean can suddenly breathe again. It is quiet, and there is no smoke, and the street lights are dim and not-flashing. Billy is still hot beside him, but the air is cool, and Sean feels the sweat rapidly drying on his skin, imagines that he can feel each individual bead evaporating.

“You are fucked up, Astin,” Billy tells him cheerfully. Sean looks at him, and Billy’s eyes are dilated and his face is red, and Sean wants to tell him ‘so are you,’ but his throat isn’t cooperating and all he manages is a hum.

“Stay here a minute,” Billy says, and leans Sean up against the wall like he’s a surfboard or a walking stick or something equally inanimate and inconsequential. Billy steps a few feet away and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. He checks the little glowing screen, wanders around the alley a bit until he finds good reception, and to Sean it looks like he’s running in circles, and it makes Sean’s head spin. He can’t quite concentrate on what Billy is saying when he makes his call, obsesses over who he might be talking to, and doesn’t actually understand what it is he’s thinking.

Billy returns a moment later, although Sean didn’t see him pocket the phone or even move, and Sean blinks at him. “I left a message on Dom’s phone telling him that we’re leaving. And I called Christine and told her you’re a wee bit drunk, and you’re going to sleep it off with us at Elijah’s place..”

Sean swallows and manages to get his tongue and throat and lips all working in harmony for a few moments. “Taking responsibility for me, since you fucked me up?” He doesn’t mean it to sound bitter, but he’s feeling out of sorts, and now that he’s coming down from the drug it’s no longer a good out of sorts. Everything’s a bit slanted and slowed down, and he feels even bigger and more clumsy than usual.

Billy blinks at him for a moment, and then offers an apologetic smile. “Something like that,” he says, and it suddenly feels like he’s too close because all Sean can see are green, green eyes. “You take care of us all the time. About time someone takes care of you, for a change.”

Billy’s hands are still hotslicksliding when they touch Sean’s arms and then he’s tugging Sean away from the wall and down the alley. Sean slips on wet asphalt, but Billy holds him steady, and it’s not fair that Billy is so calm and together when Sean is so messed up, and did they really take the same thing? But then it probably makes sense, because of Billy can hold his alcohol better than any of them, he can probably hold his drugs better, too.

Sean doesn’t even notice the taxi until Billy’s pushing him into it, and he sort of slumpslides across the seat, and Billy piles in practically across his lap. “Ah, shite,” he’s saying a moment later, when the driver asks where they’re going. “Sean, what’s Elijah’s address?”

Sean answers automatically, because things like that are always ready for quick reference. Self-preservation, probably, and a good thing, too, because now they’re off home. Billy doesn’t move from where he’s half-sprawled across Sean’s body, and if Sean starts absentmindedly stroking the top of his head neither of them notice. They’re half-asleep by the time the taxi pulls up in front of Elijah’s mom’s house, and when the cabbie tells them to get their asses up and out, they do so slowly. Sean is feeling a little less disoriented, though, as though the not-nap has helped get rid of some of the chemicals in his system, and now he’s able to walk steady and talk clearly. Billy pays the cabbie and they make their way up the guesthouse that Elijah occupies when he’s in town, and that Billy’s staying at while he’s in L.A.

Sean is the one with the spare key, though, and he jangles his key chain around a bit until he finds the right key, and then takes two tries to get the door unlocked and open. They creep inside, and Sean closes and locks the door, and then they stop in the entrance hall and look at each other. The only light comes from the sensor-activated porch light, which clicks off a moment after they’re inside, and then they’re thrown into pitch darkness.

The drug is Sean’s excuse when he reaches for Billy, but he’s not feeling particularly disoriented anymore. In fact, he hasn’t felt this clear-headed all evening, not even before Billy gave him the little white pill, but when Billy’s teeth clack against his he’s still not sure who initiated it. He wonders if Billy gave him the drug to get him fucked up, or to fuck him, or both, and then decides that it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he momentarily has no reserves, and even the thought of Christine sitting at home alone isn’t enough to make him pull away.

Billy is small, but he’s strong, and when he pushes Sean against the wall there is an audible thud. Sean wonders what Elijah would think if he came home to find them like this, or worse, to find them taking this further, and then he decides that he doesn’t care about that either. There’s not much he cares about at the moment, except for the hard kisses Billy is pressing to his mouth and the warm heat pooling low in his belly. He thinks all that suffocating heat he felt in the club is solidifying in his abdomen, trickling downwards to his groin, and collecting between his legs. When Billy pushes against his hips, he pushes back automatically.

They knock something off the little table in the foyer, in the mutual effort to remove Billy’s jacket, and then almost stumble and fall when they reach for each others’ belts at the same time. Billy pins Sean a bit more firmly against the wall and fumbles with the belt and button before practically ripping the zipper down. His hand plunges down the front of Sean’s briefs without hesitation, and Sean’s head hits the wall with a thump accompanied by a low moan.

Sean thinks that he’s probably going to have a headache in the morning, and maybe a few bruises. He’s too fucking old to be having wall-sex, but he can’t really protest when Billy shoves his tongue back down his throat, and he can’t remember the last time he was kissed like that. Husbands and wives just don’t kiss this way, all tongue and teeth and needy noises, and Sean hadn’t realised he missed it until just now. He wonders if Christine misses it, too, but doesn’t think she does because she hardly ever even wants to cuddle anymore. He promptly forgets that line of thought, though, when Billy does a funny little rotating move with his wrist.

“Bugger this,” Billy rasps when they come up for air, and he pulls his hand out of Sean’s briefs. For a moment, Sean thinks that he’s going to pull away completely. He’s not sure whether to be relieved or terrified when he feels his underwear being peeled away and shoved down his legs to become a messy tangle with jeans and shoes and socks.

Uncertainty is quickly replaced by shivering relief when Billy wraps clever fingers around Sean’s cock and tugs. “Ohgod,” Sean whispers, because it’s been too long since anyone’s touched him like that, himself included. He makes a blind grab for Billy and successfully finds a handful of hair with which to yank Billy’s mouth back to his. It’s the only way he can be sure that he won’t say anything he might not entirely mean.

When Billy’s hand begins to slow, Sean can’t quite stop the irritated noise he makes, and he can’t help but be offended when Billy laughs. He can feel the laughter vibrating in Billy’s chest, where it’s pressed against his, and it feels funny and good, so he can’t help his smile either. Billy presses his cheek to Sean’s, and his lips to Sean’s ear, and whispers obscene words and promises. “I want to fuck you,” he finishes, and Sean is shaking his head before he even understands the full implications of the words.

“I’d rather fuck you,” he says honestly, and it seems that some part of his brain is still functioning beyond the drugs and alcohol and lust.

Billy seems to think on this for a moment or two, seems to be weighing his options before finally nodding. “Yeah, all right,” he agrees. He takes a step backward and rummages in his pockets for a moment. Sean still can’t see much, just vague shapes, and he thinks that Billy pulls out his wallet, but he’s not sure. A moment later, a little foil package is pressed into his palm.

“Put that on.” And then, without waiting for an answer, “I’ll go see what Lij has for lubricant around here. Don’t. Move.”

Billy’s gone an instant later, leaving Sean leaning against the wall of the foyer, his breathing too loud in his own ears. He can feel the smooth plaster of the wall cold against his buttocks, and the little lump at the small of his back where his shirt has rucked up. There is no sound in the house except for a muffled clattering coming from the direction of the kitchen, where Billy is.

It’s another few moments before he feels calm enough to rip open the little package and roll on the condom Billy handed him. His fingers are trembling, but he tries not to think about that, focusing instead on smoothing the latex over hard flesh with a care bordering on obsession.

He’s just managed to get rid of the tangle around his feet, depositing it in a messy pile nearby, when Billy reappears. There’s a bottle of something in his hand, and Sean can see the feral gleam of his teeth even in the dark. The bottle is dropped on the convenient little table in the foyer.

“Cooking oil,” Billy tells him, and Sean could hear his grin even if he couldn’t see it. “The most cliched substitute I could find.” He’s undoing his belt at last, and it’s accompanied by a lot of jingling, and Sean is suddenly feeling nervous.

“I’ve never …”

“I know,” Billy cuts him off, and he sounds a bit brusque, which either means he’s impatient or nervous as well. There is a pause, and a shaky breath. “I know,” he repeats. “It’s not much different from being with a woman, though. Just slick yourself up and push in nice and slow. If I tell you to stop, stop, all right?”

There is a slither of fabric as Billy’s jeans and underwear slide down together, and he kicks them off with his shoes in a manuever that’s so smooth it should be illegal. There is a pause, a moment of absolute awkwardness, and then he leans in and gives Sean’s bottom lip a gentle nip. Sean’s hands go automatically to Billy’s hips, the way he would hold Christine if he were kissing her, and from there it’s almost too easy to reverse their positions and turn Billy toward the wall.

Sean strokes his hands down Billy’s sides for a moment, staring at the smooth curve of his backside, just a pale blur in the darkness. It contrasts sharply with the planes of his torso beneath his T-shirt, which are all angles and masculinity, and Sean can’t resist giving the soft flesh a gentle squeeze. Billy shivers, and Sean slides his hand around between Billy’s body and the wall, and cups Billy’s cock.

It feels strange, because it’s just like stroking his own cock, yet completely different. The angle’s all wrong, and it’s a slightly different size and shape, and it’s weird to touch and not feel that touch on his own cock. The instinct’s there, though, and the weirdness only lasts a moment or two before he falls into a familiar rhythm.

Billy has his forearms braced against the wall and his legs spread, and after a moment he chokes out, “Sean …” and Sean stops. Billy is breathing hard, and when he turns his head and swallows, Sean watches the slow bob of his Adam’s apple, fascinated.

“Sean,” Billy repeats, and this time Sean gets the hint. He picks up the bottle from the its place on the table, and unscrews it quickly. In his haste he spills too much into his palm, and it dribbles between his fingers and falls _splitsplat_ on the tiles. He ignores it, sets the bottle aside and slicks the oil over his cock, which perks at the renewed attention, and then wipes the excess on his thighs.

His hands are trembling again, and he reaches one back around to grasp Billy’s cock as the other slides down the crevice between his buttocks. His fingers find the puckered opening, though, and he’s a little surprised when the tip of his index finger slips easily inside, a not-quite-accident.

Billy groans and pushes back against the finger. “C’mon, Astin,” he complains.

“Stop being so impatient, Boyd,” Sean growls, and is a little surprised to hear the words coming from his own mouth. He decides that he needs something to occupy it, so that it doesn’t say such dirty, betraying things, and finds Billy’s neck to be a desirable candidate. He licks a little trail of sweat just below Billy’s ear, withdrawing his hand and replacing it with his cock. He lines the head of his cock up with Billy’s entrance, pauses, and then pushes.

Billy shudders and exhales loudly, but doesn’t otherwise move. Sean takes this as permission to press on, so he does, pushing in slowly, and it’s so fucking hot and tight that it burns. His hands are still, one on Billy’s cock and the other on his hip, and he is listening for any indication of _stop, don’t want this anymore._ Billy gives none, though, just gives a little grunt when Sean gives the last push and is suddenly fully seated.

“Fuck,” Sean mutters, and Billy gives a breathy laugh.

After a moment of stillness, Billy shifts impatiently and asks, “Are you going to just sit there, or are you going to move?”

It’s Sean’s turn to laugh. “Slut,” he teases.

“Wanker,” Billy counters, and rocks his hips.

Sean forgets to retaliate, and instead begins moving. It takes him a few moments to get everything straightened out, like how to stroke in counterpoint to his thrusts, and where he needs to angle his hips to make Billy tremble and shudder. In fact, it takes more than a few moments, because he can’t think very well with the vice-like grip around his cock, tighter than anything he’s ever experienced, and hotter, and _better_. If he’d known it would be like this, he thinks, he would have thrown his lot in with the other team years ago.

As it is, he’s just managing a tenuous grip on his control, and he thinks even that might be a result of some slight mental detachment as a result of the drugs. Everything is slickhot movement, slow and fast and smooth and jerky, Billy’s skin saltysweet beneath his lips and his cock warm and heavy in his hand. Billy is moaning and whimpering, pushing back onto his cock and then thrusting forward into his hand, his hands braced on the wall and his back arched. Sean can feel the wave building too fast, sensations melding together to become one huge, overwhelming _feeling,_ and then it’s cresting.

He bites down on Billy’s shoulder to choke the cry that tries to force its way out, and Billy gives a little yelp of pain that’s quickly drowned by a groan. There are a few infinite moments of bliss and white noise, and then Sean is slowing his thrusts to a jerky halt, blinking and trying to remember where he is and why the cock in his hand is still hard.

“I’ll take care of it,” Billy says hoarsely, when Sean comes around enough to try to finish Billy off. He pushes Sean’s hand away and replaces it with his own, and it’s only a few moments before he’s shuddering and groaning, and Sean is wracked with fresh tremors as Billy’s body clenches around his softening cock.

“Fuck,” Sean says, his face pressed into the curve of Billy’s neck.

“Yeah,” Billy agrees.

“That was …” he begins, but words desert him, and he never finishes.

“Yeah,” Billy says again, because he seems to understand.

Sean sighs and loops one arm around Billy’s middle, not quite minding the fact that they’re both still covered in come and cooking oil. Not to mention still pressed against the wall in Elijah’s front hall. In fact, for all the things that are wrong with the situation, he’s feeling quite content.

Billy covers Sean’s arm with his own and laces their fingers together. “I didn’t plan this,” he says, voice a little muffled against the wall.

“I know,” Sean says, and he does.

“Can we go to bed, now?” Billy asks, and he sounds timid, like he almost expects Sean to say no.

Except that Sean could never say ‘no’ to Billy. Even to something stupid that he normally wouldn’t do. Because he should say ‘no,’ and he should go home to his wife and tell her what happened, and that he’s sorry and he stills loves her. He should tell Billy that they can’t go to bed, because they need to forget that this ever happened.

“Yeah,” Sean says, instead, “all right.”


End file.
